


Keep Calm, Carry On

by Afflitto



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, The Blitz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-09
Updated: 2011-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-06 14:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afflitto/pseuds/Afflitto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur shoved himself upright, ignoring the chair that toppled over, and staggered to the window to get a better view.  "They're here."  Night had just barely fallen, but the air was already thick with the droning of planes.  Francis joined him there, unable to see through the smoky haze, then pulled him away from the window as another bomb exploded into the house nearby.  Debris rained down, some crashing through the glass and skidding across the linoleum floor.</p><p>Francis pays Arthur a visit during the Blitz period. (Oneshot, kink meme de-anon)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Calm, Carry On

**Author's Note:**

> Italic blockquotes are taken from Churchill's Finest Hour speech.

Anything could be ignored with the right amount of willpower. The shaking of his hand as he struggled to bring his teacup to his lips? Nothing.

The soul-sucking weariness seeping into his bones as he struggled just to keep his eyes open? Nothing.  
  
The inability to sleep night after night as bombs battered his precious London? Nothing.

The ache in his heart rivaled only by the never-ending ache in his body as his country was left in ruins?  Nothing.

He could maintain his composure. Sure his bright eyes faded dull, the bruises under his eyes cut deep into pale skin, and a haze clouded his head. But he was the British Empire, for hell's sake. He sure as hell wouldn't go down without a fight.

" _Angleterre_?"

Arthur jumped--his tea sloshed from his cup and stained his trousers.

It took him a moment to reorient himself; he was still in his house, huddled beneath a threadbare blanket in his favourite chair. A resigned sun slinked its way in the window and refused to provide further warmth.

"—Francis? When the hell did you get here…"

All Francis could offer him was a sigh. " _Mon ami_ , I've been here for at least ten minutes. You acknowledged me when I stepped in." He shifted his weight, relying on the wall for support.

Francis was unnaturally tense, body mottled with bruises, one arm tucked in a sling, and left eye swollen shut. His breathing seemed strained, and he kept licking parched, cracked lips.

Arthur rubbed his eyes with an unsteady hand and shook his head. "Right. Well then. Um…" The nation gingerly set down his cup and pushed himself up out of his chair to inspect the other more closely, brows furrowed. "You're a downright mess…" His fingertips brushed Francis’s face, but he jerked away and made for the kitchen. "You'll want tea, right?" There came the sound of clinking china and a teapot being thrust upon stove burner.

Francis followed him in to answer the unspoken question. "I shouldn't be here by any count. Germany's got Paris in complete lockdown. And it didn't help that my government gave up without a fight. I'm afraid France has fallen for good.”

Arthur took all this in with a grunt, eyes flickering to the window where he could crane his neck to see St. Paul's Cathedral framed by a halfhearted sunset. He swallowed, Churchill's words echoing in his mind.

_I made it perfectly clear then that whatever happened in France would make no difference to the resolve of Britain and the British Empire to fight on, if necessary for years, if necessary alone._

"R-right."

Francis continued. "And Italy…" The Frenchman paced only slightly until Arthur pushed the steeping cup of tea along the table toward him with a small sigh. The two slumped down into kitchen chairs. "Germany has dragged him down into his insanity. He's turned _mon petit frère_ into just as much of a monster as he. That bastard. Italy was always such a cute, naïve child...but now he's declared war on me, even sent in invasion forces…I can hardly stand it. I actually saw him once. Talked to him, you know. He visited Paris with Germany." France pinched the bridge of his nose in hopes of staving off a headache or possibly tears. "But you, _Angleterre_ , how are you holding up? I saw London…"

Arthur merely shook his head. "I am fine."

_Hitler knows that he will have to break us in this Island or lose the war. If we can stand up to him, all Europe may be free and the life of the world may move forward into broad, sunlit uplands. But if we fail, then the whole world, including the United States, including all that we have known and cared for, will sink into the abyss of a new Dark Age made more sinister, and perhaps more protracted, by the lights of perverted science._

_" Angleterr_ —"

"I said I am fine." Arthur's voice was sharper than he intended, and his tendency to scowl at anyone and everyone these days wasn't helping. He sighed, adding to the weight of the following silence.

Francis stared intently at his cup, absentmindedly twirling the spoon around the edge. He felt useless, utterly useless. His rival and quite possibly closest friend was suffering and he was too weak to do anything about it. The war had hardly begun and he had already fallen.

Eventually Francis dared look back up at Arthur who was also studying his cup, fingers delicately wrapped into the handle and pinky sure as hell sticking out and up. "It almost seems silly," Francis dared start.

Arthur looked up. "What?"

"I mean, the quarrels we've had all our lives. The silly, petty arguments. It seems so silly compared to this."

"This is war. What did you expect."

Arthur's eyes drifted back toward the window, and it became clear that he lacked the energy to discuss this.

"We've endured worse,” Arthur said after a pause, “The very powers and conflict that forged us into nations was the real hellfire. This is just another test to see if we're worthy to hold the names and the power that we've accumulated. I intend on facing the challenge head on. I'll endure what I must until I can strike back. Great Britain waits for no one.

“You're insane, Francis, for sitting around twiddling your thumbs and waiting for some…some hero to charge in and save you. He's not coming, Francis, no matter how much we beg—and trust me, Churchill himself has tried. America is not coming to save your arse again nor is he coming to help me. I know that's why you came, to see if there was any glimmer of hope in the horizon, but you're wrong. Everything that we do here will be by our own power, and our own power is more than enough. It has to be. Germany would have be bloody insane to provoke America."

Francis did not comment on the pain that flashed through Arthur's eyes. "I did not come to ask about _Amerique_. I only came to ask about you…"

"I—"

The first bomb pounded into the street nearby and sent a wave of rubble exploding outward. The screaming started, followed by belated sirens that echoed and whined like premature funeral dirges while the house shook with subsequent explosions.

Nghhh. England doubled over. His breath hitched. Sweat erupted across his face and dripped into clouded eyes. His twitching body jarred the table and his teacup shattered on the floor, tea seeping out like blood.

_Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say, 'This was their finest hour.'_

"Shit." Arthur shoved himself upright, ignoring the chair that toppled over, and staggered to the window to get a better view. "They're here."

Night had just barely fallen, but the air was already thick with the droning of planes. Francis joined him there, unable to see through the smoky haze, then pulled him away from the window as another bomb exploded into the house nearby. Debris rained down, some crashing through the glass and skidding across the linoleum floor.

" _Angleterre._ Surely it isn't safe he—"

"No." Arthur snarled. "I'm not leaving my house." He wrenched free and lunged for the kitchen table then for the counter to find another tea cup to pour water into.

"Are you insane? The house! The shaking! What if a bomb hits us?!"

Arthur shook his head, dumping in a bit too much sugar with a shaking hand. He couldn't even grip the milk pitcher. "J-just turn the lights out. The g-government has been suggesting we turn out all the lights in London. M-makes it harder for the Nazis to hit us if they can't see us."

Breath catching in his throat, France did as he was told, looking back at Arthur uneasily before flipping the switch. He could have sworn he saw a lone tear on the Briton's face before darkness provided him cover. "Alright, _Angleterre_ , now what? Is there somewhere in your house that's safe to go?"

Arthur doubled over, clutching at the leg of his table as a cry ripped from his throat. He felt the lives of the family two doors down snuffed out in a cascade of debris.

The house shook violently, until he feared it would crumble before it was even smashed into. More lives vanished until he too felt so distant from his body that he could just ascend to something better, away from the pain and the fear that assaulted him. He struggled just to push breath past the lump in his throat. Every inch of him throbbed with pain. He choked back sobs.

" _Angleterre_!" France was immediately at his side. He tried desperately to pull the other against him despite his own injured arm.

"I told you I'm fine." He kept his voice level.  "Unhand me. Now."

Francis refused. " _Angleterre_. You don't have to endure this alo—"

"I said unhand me, frog." Arthur's fist made weak contact with Francis’s face, then went limp from exhaustion. The house took on an eerie silence and the darkness grew thicker without the flash of bombs.

"There's sure to be another wave…" Arthur said. "Don't become complacent…" His voice grew faint.

"Right. Then I'm getting you out of here and to safety. Where to…"

"D-don't you dare, you bloody fro—"

"Like you can resist." Francis pulled Arthur upright then slung the other's arm across his shoulder, holding him in place with his good arm.  "We're going to the underground station. That seems safe enough, no?"

He stumbled toward the door, which was hanging off its hinges, and tapped it open. He forced the exhausted nation to rely on him as he started for the streets. "Tell me which way we go."

"Put.me.back.in.my.house."

"Tell me which way to go, dammit! _Mon Dieu_! There's no need to be so damn stubborn."

With a drawn out breath, Arthur pointed where they could see only by the light of crackling fires consuming the remains of several houses. "Down that street."

The two continued on in strained silence. By the time they reached the stairs their panting scraped against the silence and neither of them could manage little more than a staggering walk.

The droning returned, along with the smoke, the confusion, and the panic. Once again London shook and Arthur doubled over at the top of the stairs, nearly taking Francis down with him.

" _Non, Angleterre_. Hold on a little longer." Wiping sweat and grime from his eyes, Francis half carried-half dragged Arthur down the stairs into the station where hundreds of families were huddled. These were the families that did not have their own bomb shelters but who had taken to sleeping in the stations at night.

Francis made sure Arthur was somewhat comfortable by laying his coat across him and settling his head on his lap, then squinted through torch-light at the people surrounding. This was a people beaten and bruised but not broken. Knocked down but not destroyed. Francis realized by the fire in their eyes, still burning behind the fear, that Arthur truly would not go down without a fight.

The Frenchmen looked down as if to tell Arthur, but paused when he saw the Briton's eyes fluttering open. The hand that had been absentmindedly stoking the other's hair stilled as Arthur reached a hand up to touch his cheek with trembling fingers. His considerable brows scrunched together as he struggled to just stay awake.

"Alfred…?"

Francis swallowed, unable to answer for the lump forming in his throat.

Arthur's eyes slipped closed. "Stay the hell out of Europe…"

 


End file.
